Greed
by HigherMagic
Summary: "So, if your boyfriend and your brother swapped bodies and you had to sleep with one of them to change them back, who would you choose?" And here Dean thought he'd already been to Hell.


**Title: **Greed  
**Author:** HigherMagic  
**Pairing(s): **Dean/Castiel/Sam**  
Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count: 9k  
Warnings:** bodyswap (Cas and Sam), dub-con, spell-made-them-do-it, angst  
**Summary:** "So, if your boyfriend and your brother swapped bodies and you had to have sex with one of them to change them back, who would you choose?"  
**Notes: **So this is kind of a thing that hit me and distracted me from everything else. Sorry. Wrote this while moving, and it's unbeta'd. Hope you guys like it!

* * *

Dean has died and gone to Hell. Again. He's pretty damn sure of it, or else this is some weird-ass fucking dream that he hopes to wake up from like _now _because there is no way in all of God's green Earth that this is actually happening.

There's a crease between Sam's brows, eyes narrowing in a confused and thoughtful squint that would look way more at home on the face of the Angel sitting opposite Dean on the other motel bed. Castiel's face is oddly blank, lips pressed together in a way that Dean has come to associate more with his little brother than anyone else. To see Sam's expression on Castiel's face is _wrong_. It's wrong and so fucking messed up and if Dean has to think any more about it then he might actually be sick.

"So the only way to get you guys switched back to normal is…" He swallows, because he can't actually stomach finishing that sentence out loud. Stupid fucking witches and their fucking spells and God, if he could find a spell to gank each and every last one of those perverted, sick bitches then he would ten times over before he would be satisfied.

He's looking at Castiel, helplessly, before he realizes that Castiel's face is set in a similar expression, and Dean is hit with another harsh reminder that this _isn't Cas_. It's Sam in Castiel's body and he looks just as wide-eyed and helpless as Dean feels. As one they turn to look at Sam-not-Sam-it's-Cas, the Angel twisting Sam's features into his usual expression of thoughtful concern.

"It would appear so, yes," Castiel says, his shoulders slumping as the exasperation sets in. They'd stolen one of the witch's spell books and that is what Castiel is currently bent over, the pose unfortunately all-too familiar to Dean and it just makes his stomach twist with even more nausea. "The spell was focused on Dean to switch his loved ones – that is, me and you, Sam – and the only way to switch us back is apparently to have intercourse with one of us." He sighs, sitting back and turning his eyes Heavenward. "I've tried to leave your body several times, Sam, and I am finding myself unable to. This might be the only way."

"Um." It's never going to be okay to see Sam's fear on Castiel's face, his discomfort and his anxiety clear as day where Castiel might be able to hide it under a thin veneer. "I, um. I don't think I can… I mean, I don't know how you guys usually are but -."

Yep, screw it; Dean's going to throw up. He barely makes it to the toilet before the contents of his stomach are emptied into it, and immediately Castiel is by his side, but the palm that flattens over his back is too warm and too big and Dean tenses against another wave of nausea when he realizes it's Sam's hand flattened between his shoulder blades.

"Dean, it'll be okay," Sam's voice says, soft and soothing and altogether _Cas_, but it's not Cas and Dean feels the revulsion like a dark pit in his soul. He can't deal with this right now – he _can't_. "We can figure out a way to fix this."

"We've tried _everything_," Dean mutters, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth and shoving himself upward, flushing the toilet and halfheartedly washing his mouth out with water from the sink. "It's been days, Cas, and this is the first real hit. Witches don't leave loopholes."

There's a tense, worried silence that follows his words, because Dean has just voiced what none of them were ever willing to say before – this is the last, possibly the only, resort. Dean will have to sleep with one of them to put them back, and God, how fucked up is that? Fuck his little brother's body while it's possessed by the Angel he's dating (maybe mated to they haven't actually said the words yet but) or try and look Cas' body in the eye and know it's Sam staring back at him.

Given the choice, he knows – No. Fuck that. He's not going to leave the choice up to him. They'll decide amongst themselves if they have to.

When Dean comes back to the other bed, Castiel sits Sam's body down a little ways from him. He knows if they were in their own bodies, Castiel would be plastered right against Dean's side, their knees and hips and shoulders touching – but they can't, because Sam's body is so much bigger and warmer and it would just feel wrong to have his brother touching him in such an intimate way, with the same kind of heat. Dean likes the fleeting touches he and Sam share, the way they would pile together on the couch, knees lightly brushing and feet side by side, but since his _thing _with Castiel, Sam has backed off on that front and Dean can't say he minds one way or another. As long as one of them is there, he likes it.

He swallowed, rolling his shoulders. He can't bring himself to look either of them in the eye. "I'm not making this call," he declares, leaving no room for argument. "It's up to you guys."

Castiel nods Sam's head, pressing his lips together as he looks over at where Sam is sitting, hunched over in his vessel's body. "Sam?"

"I, ah -." Sam swallows, his words hollow and strained like they're being punched out of him. "I don't know if I'd be able to..._top_." Both he and Dean flinch visibly at the word. "But I don't know if Dean could…with my body – I mean -."

He stops, then, at the soft exhale from Dean. They both know he's right, but none of them like it – Dean probably wouldn't be able to bring himself to look at Sam's body and feel arousal, and if he did manage it, he sure as Hell wouldn't be able to look at himself after. But it being Sam in Castiel's body might be just as bad, if not worse, because despite the pretty packaging he'd basically be having sex with his younger brother – Dean stops that train of thought. He feels like he's going to be sick again.

He pushes himself to his feet. "Figure it out," he mutters, stalking to the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him. From the other side Sam and Castiel can hear the sink running and the vague sounds of someone brushing their teeth, and they turn their attention away after a moment, regarding each other.

"Sam," Castiel murmurs after a second, making Sam tense and curl his shoulders in more tightly, "I am so very sorry you had to be dragged into this. If there was any way to make this easier, I would do so without hesitation."

Sam lifts one shoulder. "Can't really be helped," he replies. "I just…God, Cas, I don't want him to hate me. Or this." A ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across Castiel's – Sam's – face. "Is there any way to, I don't know, make Dean think it's you, or trick him? Something?"

Castiel shakes his head. "Your body, while meant for an Angel's Grace, is not meant for mine. I'm hesitant to try and wield any strong powers while still in your vessel. Anything I can or would do for Dean, I will have to do later. After it is done."

"I'm sorry," Sam says, looking down at where his fingers are fidgeting between his knees. It's weird, because Castiel's hands are smaller than his, his fingers a different darkness, his nails cleaner and well-kept despite the new harder life that he had joined the Winchesters on. "I know that you and Dean are together."

"I love Dean very deeply," Castiel concedes with a nod of his head, smiling again. "But then again, so do you."

Sam stiffens, eyes widening as he looks at the Angel's knowing smile, before the water stops running on the other side of the bathroom door and Dean's fist bangs twice from the other side. "Whatever you've decided, sort it out now 'cause the sooner we get this over with, the better."

Sam takes a breath, steeling himself, and Castiel nods and disappears with a flutter of wings. Sam gets up quickly, but not before he notices that in the Angel's place there is now a condom and a bottle of lubricant. He grimaces, gingerly picking up the lube and condom and setting them under the bedside lamp, which he switches on, and runs over to the main lights to turn them off so that all that is visible is the small thread of light from under the bathroom door, and a corner of the bed where the lube and condom is. The less Dean sees is probably better.

He can't quite bring himself to call out for Dean, because Dean will figure it out that much quicker that he decided to stay behind, and he's not sure if Dean will be angry with him for that – would he have rather had sex with Sam's body, knowing that it was still his boyfriend-Angel-mate behind it? Sam just doesn't _know_, because he has no idea (and doesn't really want one) about how Dean and Castiel play it up, if Dean is used to topping or not or if it really matters but if it does surely it would be easier for him to pretend it's Castiel? If Sam keeps quiet and Dean shuts his eyes, will he still notice the difference?

Sam feels like his heart is about to explode from his chest, as he rolls his shoulders and shrugs off the trench coat and suit jacket that is ever-present on Castiel, but feels confining and warm on his own body. He feels too _small_, too unsure outside of his own body, and he doesn't like it.

He goes over to the bathroom door and slams his fist against it twice to let Dean know that he's ready, and skirts away before Dean opens the door. On the other side the light flickers off before Dean opens it, and Sam can just make out the lamp's reflection in his eyes and the soft shadows on his face from where he's standing.

As well as he can see Dean, it is clear that Dean cannot see him, and he watches as his brother swallows and straightens his spine in readiness, fingers flexing. Dean closes his eyes, wetting his lips. "Okay."

Sam swallows as well, stepping forward slowly, and brushes his fingers over the back of Dean's hand so that Dean knows he's nearby. He's not expecting the curl of Dean's fingers to catch his own, but he lets his hand remain there – if Dean needs the touch, then that's alright too. Dean is tactile, and affectionate, and Sam has no idea where his lines are but he's willing to give Dean as much as he needs until they're done.

It seems like, just through the touch of his hand, Dean knows it's him. He sighs, shoulders slumping, and presses the knuckles of his free hand against his mouth. "Sammy," he whispers, sounding broken and lost.

He hates Dean sounding like that – so unsure of himself, so tense and hesitant. Dean is a rock, a solid protection that Sam has known his entire life, and he hates seeing that wall crumble and fall away. He has no idea if Dean wants to, or if he'll get pushed away, but that doesn't stop Sam from stepping closer and laying his other hand against Dean's neck, thumb brushing over his jaw and turning him so that they're facing each other. Dean's hand drags from his mouth to cover Sam's, fingertips curling under his palm and he finds Sam's eyes like he can finally see them clearly in the darkness. His lips are parted and his eyes are searching and Sam has no idea what to do.

He rubs his thumb along the shadow on Dean's jaw, watches with interest and satisfaction when it makes Dean shiver. "Is this okay?" he asks, because he wants Dean to be able to go through with this and if he can't because Sam pushed him too hard, then – well.

Dean exhales softly, the warmth of it brushing over Sam's wrist, and before he even finishes nodding Sam draws him forward into a kiss. Dean's lips are soft, dry, and yield so pleasantly against Sam's. He's not used to being shorter than his partner, shorter than _Dean_, and to have to tilt his head up to meet the kiss is a novel sensation – one he can't decide if he likes or not.

But Dean is used to it – the motions of his hands ring with familiarity, with repetition, as the hand that had been covering Sam's instead threads through the thick hair on the back of his head, his other pulling at Sam's hips to press them flush together. The warmth of Dean's body takes Sam's breath away – he'd been desensitized from the unabashed affection that he can feel through Dean's kiss, the eagerness for the press of their bodies and the slight smile curving Dean's mouth.

It absolutely _ruins _him in a way he hadn't expected, and he breathes out shakily when Dean pulls away to rest their foreheads together. "You kiss differently," Dean murmurs, and Sam can't really tell but he thinks Dean might be getting lost in his head again, caught up in the _wrong_ and the _dark _of this situation.

"Sorry," Sam replies, still shaky, heat and need skittering under his skin in a way he hadn't expected, Dean's touch clearly as familiar to his body as it is to him. He can, despite himself, feel arousal curling hot and heavy in his gut, Castiel's body obviously tuned to Dean's warmth and his scent and the press of his lips.

Dean chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I didn't say it was bad." He turns away, then, hands falling from Sam and gaze taking in their surroundings. He looks at the bed, the lit lamp, the shiny reflection of the little metal packet and the bottle next to it. "You get those?"

Sam shakes his head. "They were left behind," he replies. Dean doesn't need to know it was Castiel who put them there – doesn't want to think about why Castiel wants the barrier of latex between them, why he chose to leave it at all instead of having Sam root around for them on his own. He's almost positive Dean has no diseases (Hell, sleeping with an Angel he's probably cured of them anyway) and Sam knows he's clean. There's no real reason expect for the obvious one.

Dean sucks in a breath through his teeth, shoulders rolling again. "Alright," he says, taking Sam's hand and leading him towards the bed. "Do you mind if I, ah…?" He gestures towards the bedside lamp, still lit and casting its light across a little less than half of the bed. It's not much but it's enough for Sam to see Dean's face and therefore Dean can probably see his – see the lack of Grace lighting his eyes and the way his shoulders are curling in and the way he's just not _Cas_.

Sam shakes his head, gesturing to the lamp again in acquiescence, and Dean turns away from him to switch it off. As soon as the blackness folds over the entire room, he finds himself relaxing just a little, and he can hear Dean's relieved sigh. Then, the sounds of rustling clothes break the silence. "Get undressed," he hears Dean order, and swallows and goes to obey.

His hands hesitate over the buttons of Castiel's white shirt. "All the way?" he hazards, unsure how much of Castiel's body Dean will want to or need to feel under him to get this done.

He hears another sound like Dean is sucking his lip between his teeth to stop his instinctive answer. "As much as you want," he replies, the clink of his belt against the floor and the sudden softness of his footsteps telling Sam that at least his jeans and shoes are gone. Sam follows suit, toeing off the work shoes, socks, and slacks still clinging to Castiel's body. The material around his throat feels tight and so he undoes the tie as well and unbuttons the first few buttons on the white shirt until the wife beater underneath is just barely peeking over. He can't bring himself to remove his underwear yet, but he's pretty sure Dean hasn't either.

He is just standing there, trying to control his breathing, when Dean's hand brushes his forearm, making Sam flinch away in surprise because he hadn't even sensed Dean coming. Dean immediately pulls back, cursing softly under his breath and, now that Sam knows he's there, he can feel him retreat.

Eagerly Sam reaches out, finding the soft, thin material of Dean's t-shirt under his fingers and digging in tight to stop his brother pulling away.

"It's okay," he murmurs, stepping closer to Dean in the darkness until he feels their shoulders touch. "You just startled me is all."

And Dean makes another sound, like a wounded animal, and it occurs to Sam that he's probably never startled Castiel in the same way. His body is completely tense underneath Sam's hand and Sam has no idea how to soothe the tension away. His skin feels too small, stretched too thin with shards of current running up and down his arms, and Dean is ridiculously warm, a grounding for the current – he wonders if Dean can feel it too.

Slowly, Dean reaches up and flattens his hand over Sam's fist, soothing it away. "C'mere," Sam hears, barely-breathed, and he goes and gasps when Dean turns him suddenly, his back against Dean's chest as his brother wraps an arm around his stomach, the other still holding his clenching fingers against his chest. His breath is hot on the side of Sam's throat, and it's making him shiver, the slow curl of arousal thickening and heating up despite himself. "Think of whatever you need to."

Sam isn't expecting the bite of Dean's teeth on the side of his neck – a gentle pressure, it hardly even hurts, the scrape of them and the way Dean's arms tighten around him, and it's making him shiver. He's never been the smaller lover, the submissive one, but having Dean's arms caging him in makes him feel that way – and he's unprepared for the harsh jolt of lust that it brings. Whether it's sense memory of Castiel's body or his own feelings, the sucking kisses that Dean is placing against his neck and the practiced motion of Dean's palm skating over his stomach has Sam's gut tightening, throat dry, entire body trembling and lax.

He doesn't know what on Earth he could think about besides this – he closes his eyes, tries to imagine some girl or even a guy grinding up against him, tries to imagine the feelings of manicured nails down his chest and long, thick hair in his hands, but he cannot find himself to think of anything but _Dean_. The scent of home and spice and sweat on his brother, the warmth leeching into his back, it's all Dean and Sam finds himself not wanting to think of anything else.

He gasps when Dean nuzzles against his neck, soothing over the throbbing ache where he'd bitten and sucked. He reaches back, grabbing blindly until his nails dig into the meat of Dean's thigh, making him hiss and buck forward against Sam's ass, and – _oh._

Dean isn't hard. Not even a little bit. It makes Sam draw away, turning to face him. "Dean?" he asks, reaching up to flatten his palm against Dean's cheek, and is shocked to find it feels moist and gritty under his touch.

Dean is _crying_.

"Fuck," Dean growls, shoving Sam's hand away and rubbing his own across his face. "I'm sorry." He sounds completely shattered by it and even in the darkness Sam knows Dean can't look in his direction. "I'm sorry, Sammy – you're just -. You're my _baby brother_ and -."

Sam swallows, guilt and hate for that witch making his throat tight. He hates seeing Dean like this – even though he can't actually see Dean's face, he can hear it in his voice and that's twice as bad. Dean hates himself for this. "Do you want me to call Cas?" he asks instead of anything else he wants to say. He wants to pull Dean against him, whisper _it's okay _and _I'm here_ and a million other things that he would never dare put a voice to, but Sam isn't the one Dean turns to for comfort anymore and that kills him.

Dean makes that sound again, and Sam is really starting to hate himself for being the one that makes him do it. "I don't know if I can…" He trails off, swallowing hard enough that Sam can hear, and he hears the bed dip and groan with Dean's weight.

At a loss of anything else to do, Sam sends a stray through to Castiel, begging him to return quickly, and all-too-soon there is a telltale flutter of wings signaling the Angel's arrival. Sam turns towards it, only to flinch when suddenly the lights are back on, leaving Dean and Sam both half-naked, Sam with fresh marks clearly evident on his neck and when Dean sees them he visibly winces again, looking back down.

For a moment the three of them are still, Castiel's eyes fixed on the side of Dean's face, before they turn to Sam. The younger Winchester shifts, all too aware of his own hardness and knowing that Castiel can probably see all the dirty, dark little desires buzzing through Sam's head – the fact that he liked the feeling of Dean behind him, the sensation of his teeth, the brush of his hand. He'd _liked_ it, and if that didn't get him sent straight back to Hell he has no idea what would.

Finally, Castiel smiles, this soft and knowing smile like before they'd tried to fix this, and he tilts his head just slightly, before walking over to Dean. Sam watches his brother, watching as he deflates at the first of touch of Castiel's – _his_ – fingers in Dean's hair, watches Dean's eyes fall closed, shoulders slumping in defeat. It's his body, and it feels so strange to watch it touch Dean like that – touch him like Dean is his most treasured possession and rare and beautiful and a source of joy. He can see it all on his own face; an expression that Sam is almost positive would be the same way their mother would have looked at their father. Or the way Sam looked at Jess.

He watches, frozen between trying to leave and wanting so desperately to come closer, as Castiel sits down next to Dean and gently but firmly turns his head for a kiss.

Dean lets out a harsh sound against his mouth, fingers twitching where they're resting against his thighs like he wants to touch but can't bring himself to – because if he does it won't be Castiel he's actually touching. The hair will be too long and thinner than Castiel's, the shoulders too broad, the body too big.

It takes Sam a moment to realize that Castiel has a free hand, and it's gesturing for Sam to come over. The curl of his fingers is unmistakable and, disbelieving, his heart in his throat and his knees shaky and weak, Sam cautiously comes forward and follows Castiel's direction when the Angel reaches out and gently guides Sam to sit on Dean's other side.

As he watches, Castiel pulls back, Sam's hazel-green eyes dilated almost completely black, and Dean has his own eyes clenched tightly shut against the inevitable vision of his own brother's face kissing him. "Dean likes passion in a lover, Sam," Castiel says, the sound of Sam's voice making Dean flinch but Castiel has a hold of his chin, gentle fingers spreading wide across Dean's jaw and neck and _Christ, _how can his own hands seem so large against Dean's body? "You have to make him believe it if you're going to get a reaction out of him."

Sam can't think of a single thing to say to that, and Castiel stretches his lips into a ghost of a smile, before his eyes flick back to Dean's face. His thumb strokes over Dean's cheekbone, attentive and gentle and reverent, before he pushes at Dean's face and Sam feels like his heart is in his throat because Castiel is _turning them towards each other_ and Sam feels like he can't breathe.

"Kiss him, Sam," Castiel urges, his thumb pressing against the hinge of Dean's jaw to force his head forward, but it all still stinks of reluctance and Sam doesn't want to if Dean doesn't want to. "Kiss him like you're in love with him."

Sam's eyes widen, flicking over Dean's shoulder to his own serious face staring back at him, and he feels himself run cold. Castiel _knows_. Of course he does. He licks his lips and Castiel twists his into a smile again, before he closes his eyes and nuzzles into Dean's neck to place a light kiss to his heated skin there, too.

His hand falls away from Dean's face and Sam knows that Dean will bolt at the loss of contact – maybe it's muscle memory from Castiel's vessel, maybe it's because Sam knows his brother just as well, but he raises his own hand that feels too small and flattens it across Dean's cheek and draws him forward.

The touch makes Dean's eyes open suddenly, his body tense with expectation and hesitance and Sam hates it – hates every trembling muscle he can feel and the tense thrum of Dean's heartbeat under his fingers. He forces a smile to his face, and hopes it's reassuring; an _It's okay_, and an _I want this_ and a _Please, Dean_ all in one, and he keeps his eyes open until their lips meet again.

This time he doesn't hold back in this kiss – if Dean needs passion, needs to know that Sam wants this and craves this and thinks about this every time he feels Dean's warmth near him on a couch watching TV or sitting side-by-side in the Impala, then Sam can give it to him. If he wants to think it's fake, then he can do that too. Sam won't correct him if he doesn't want to be corrected.

Dean is tense and still for a long moment, before he hears Castiel whisper something low in his own voice in Dean's ear, and then something seems to snap in him, his shoulders sagging like the strings holding him up have been brutally severed. His hands spread out along Sam's thigh and around his flank and Sam braces himself for the tickling touch, but Castiel's vessel doesn't even flinch at that, doesn't respond – the bite of Dean's nails sends a pool of heat down to Sam's gut and their kiss is getting messy and sloppy and Dean's breathing is picking up and Sam _wants_.

Dean feels like he's burning up under Sam's touch, and when they break apart for air Sam rests their foreheads together to see the wide pupil under Dean's lashes, his brother's head bent down so he doesn't have to look Sam in the eye. That's okay – a gentle push through the hair on the back of Dean's head tells Dean he understands.

He finally raises his eyes, lets Dean press his mouth to the marks he left before so that he can see what Castiel is doing as well. Castiel's eyes are dark, focused on Dean where his muscles stretch the shirt across his back in an almost obscene way, and the way toes are digging into the motel carpet as though he would try and bury himself into it if he could, to try and get away.

Their eyes meet and Castiel sends a fleeting smile, an approving nod that Sam cannot help but sheepishly match, feeling his cheeks heat up and redden. It is so strange, to feel warm at an Angel's approval of kissing his mate and Sam's brother. So weird, so fucked up, so -.

"Sam," Castiel murmurs, harsh and firm as he reaches out to flatten a hand across the back of Dean's neck, keeping him down when he bucks and shudders at the sound of Sam's voice saying the wrong name. "Don't."

Sam has no idea what to say to that, and Castiel raises an eyebrow, lips thinning out in impatience. Sam didn't even know his body could do that expression – but then again, it's not really his body right now.

"Kiss him again," Castiel whispers, fingers lightly knotting in Dean's hair and pulling him up. Dean goes, dragging his mouth against Sam's neck and bringing an involuntary shiver that raises goose bumps along his arms – his neck had never been particularly sensitive, but Castiel's body is lighting up from the inside and he can feel the erection that had flagged before thickening again, heat and blood rushing downwards along with the electric current that seems present wherever his and Dean's bodies touch.

Sam eagerly meets the kiss, hands threading through Dean's short hair where he can get a handful, holding his brother to him – Dean is a good kisser, Sam would be a fool to think he isn't – but it feels like Dean is holding back. His jaw is tense and tight, shoulders braced as though for impact and Sam wants to soothe it all away, wants to bring Dean close enough to his body that it ceases to matter what the brain thinks – until Dean stops caring that it's _Sam _he's kissing, until it stops becoming a means to an end.

The both of them startle and go still when suddenly there are no clothes – Castiel obviously getting impatient with the both of them – between them, and Sam's fingers brush against a collarless back of Dean's neck, and he can only feel tight muscle and smooth skin and he wants to touch, to explore. He knows, if he looks, that he will see his own body and also see himself in Castiel's, and he almost doesn't want to – but the thought of seeing Dean, raw and bare, is enough to make him draw back from the kiss and open his eyes.

Dean buries his face in Sam's neck once he realizes what's happening, his breathing rough and unsteady and all Sam wants to do is soothe him, but he's never had to before, not in a very long time, and he is at a loss of how to now. His desire to touch Dean is almost overwhelming and so he does, palm flattening over Dean's shoulder and down his back, cradling him close with his other hand still cupping the back of Dean's head. He can't see much more than Dean's back, pale skin stretched over muscles that look knotted and tight, Dean's nails curling into the bed sheets on either side of Sam's thighs because if he'd tried to grip that hard he would hurt Sam and he doesn't want to do that.

Dean lets out a soft, shaky breath against his neck, drawing back. "Cas, I can't -."

"Yes, you can," the Angel immediately replies, voice hard and low where it's Sam's voice and he sounds like he's made Sam gargle with salt water and rocks, his voice sounds so rough – it really must be an Angel thing, a Castiel thing, to speak that lowly. He flattens Sam's large hand over Dean's back, between his shoulder blades, and Sam gasps when he feels Dean's weight being pushed against him, thighs and shoulders touching even though Dean looks like he's straining with all his might against the hold. "You want to be good for us, don't you, Dean?"

Sam cannot help the breath he sucks in at that, white-hot lust making his arms shake where he's forgone one on Dean's body to brace them both up when Castiel seems intent on flattening them both to the bed. He expects Dean to finally snap at that, to rebel, to throw off the Angel's hold and tell him to go fuck himself and search for another desperate alternate method that means he won't have to go through with this -.

But he doesn't. It feels like Dean is going lax, breath heavy and warm, and body pliant under Castiel's hands. Sam can see his brother's teeth sinking into his lower lip, eyes fixed pointedly on some part of Sam's – Castiel's – chest.

"Don't make me ask you again, Dean," Castiel growls after a moment, all rumbling power and sharp edges, his grip shifting from Dean's back to his neck and it looks disturbingly like Castiel is disciplining a dog, forcing its head down and coercing Dean's submission, but Dean bends to it like a weed in a gale force wind, all softness and eagerness suddenly and it occurs to Sam just how little he actually knows about how Dean is with his lovers – if this is what he craves from everyone or just Castiel.

"Cas, please, I can't -." Dean lifts his head, eyes dark and wide, only to flinch from Sam's gaze and squeeze his eyes tightly shut again. "Please."

Castiel hums softly, thumb brushing over the line of hair starting at Dean's nape, before he kneels up on the bed and bodily hauls Dean upright as well, Sam helpless but to simply follow until he's braced against the headboard with Dean crouched between him and Castiel, the Angel kneeling behind his brother. Castiel is hard, erection jutting proudly and Sam has never been so weirded out by the sight of his own body before, how eager it obviously is to share in the taste and touch and feel of Dean.

Castiel's voice, when he speaks again, is velvet-lined steel and leaves no room for argument: "If you won't have one of us, you'll have to take both."

Sam can feel Dean's shudder at the rough, demanding words, and it shocks him that Dean _still _isn't fighting it – he wants it to happen, _needs _it to happen, and then Dean's exhales aren't skating across his neck anymore, but down his chest and across his stomach and he realizes that Dean is slowly making his way down to where his – Castiel's – cock is laying, hard and traitorous, against his thigh.

"That's it," Castiel whispers encouragingly, his smile widening when Dean finally takes Sam into his mouth, earning a rough, stuttering exhale from the younger man, and their eyes meet over Dean's body. "Such a good boy, Dean; doing so well."

Sam feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room – his brain has completely fried out, one hand falling against the back of Dean's head simply because he can't think of another place to put it. He can't seem to get anything past the thought that Dean has him in his mouth, full lips reddened from _Sam's_ kiss, tongue curling against an erection that he might not inherently have but still feels it as though it is his own. He can feel Castiel's gaze burning him, lighting up Sam's hazel-green-blue eyes with inner Grace, fire and lightning and power and Sam abruptly realizes that that is _satisfaction _written across his face; he is _pleased_ with what Sam and Dean are doing, upward curl of his mouth almost unnoticeable, but now that Sam can see it, it's unmistakable.

He praises Dean like an accomplished child, fingers knocking against Sam's where they rest on the back of the older Hunter's head, and Dean gives this soft, broken noise around the girth of Sam's cock in his mouth – it feels like Sam has been punched and thrown high up into the air all at once, exhilarating and foreign and so damn good it's almost too much.

"He's good at that, isn't he, Sam?" Castiel's voice is like a strike to the back of Sam's head, slamming him back into reality and he can feel Dean choke at the mention of his name – maybe he'd been pretending, maybe he had gone to his happy place, but both Sam and Castiel's fingers tighten and hold him down so he can't pull away and after a moment he goes back to bringing Sam damn-near the best blowjob of his life. Castiel smirks, quirking one eyebrow in Sam's direction, and all the younger Winchester can do is lick his dry lips and nod. "He should be; he's had a lot of practice. When he first went on his knees for me I barely lasted two minutes."

Sam groans, eyes rolling back in his head as he leans his head back against the headboard of the bed and does his best to remember how to breathe. It's so _filthy, _even when Castiel hasn't said anything overtly pornographic; hasn't said 'cock' or 'suck' or anything like that and yet Sam is gifted with an almost crystal-clear image of his brother, on his knees with his nose buried deep in the crisp hair that he now knows covers the base of the Angel's cock, thick and black. "He was so desperate for it, Sam, I think he was more pleased when I orgasmed so quickly than I was. Drank it all down, just like he should. Didn't you, Dean?"

The sound Dean let out then might have vaguely been an assent – might have been a desperate plea for more, less, nothing at all. Sam had no idea, but the feeling of Dean's mouth around him – fuck, he had no idea it could be this good. That _Dean_ would be this…this skilled, for one thing, at having men, or so willing to please and eager to give and give until Sam can feel himself hitting the back of Dean's throat, wet and delicate muscles fluttering around his cock in a way that feels damn near Heavenly.

"I think he would be honored to do the same with you, Sam," Castiel continues after a long moment of contemplation, before he sits back, free hand flattened across Dean's hip, and lets go of Dean's head long enough to summon the bottle of lubricant from the bedside table to his hand.

Dean lets out another sound – this one decidedly rougher, but Sam cannot decipher the true meaning behind it when Dean does _something_, tongue curling and cheeks hollowing out, that has him bucking his hips up into his brother's mouth.

"_Fuck_, Dean," Sam growls before he can help himself – the first time he's spoken in a while and it makes Dean tense up again, making a soft sound, his head tilting like he's trying to catch Sam out of the corner of his eye, only hesitating when Sam's fingers tighten and he keeps his head obediently ducked low.

Castiel smiles at him, baring teeth this time in an uncharacteristically large grin. "Talk to him, Sam," he murmurs, rolling the bottle of lube between his fingers to warm it up before popping open the cap and drizzling it onto his fingers. Sam licks his lips, mouth gone dry again at the sight of his own hands glistening with lube, knowing that his fingers are going to be buried inside of his own brother, stretching Dean open for his cock and _fuck_, the thought makes his fingers clench tight again. Dean can't see what Castiel is doing, but Sam is sure he can guess and it only seems to spur him onward. "He likes noise – likes to be told how well he's doing or how you're feeling. He's so noisy, Sam – but I guess you already knew that. I bet if he didn't have his mouth full he'd be moaning so prettily for us."

Oh _God_, Sam's close. The words and the images flashing behind his eyes are too much for him – images of Dean, on his hands and knees like he is now but freely moaning, cheeks stained red like Sam can feel the heat of against his thighs, he's sure of it, and Sam can all-too-easily imagine the feeling of Dean's smooth muscled body underneath him, because he's bigger than Dean now – a fact that he's sure Castiel will try and prove soon enough – and he would be able to eclipse Dean completely, pin him down and fuck him until Dean was screaming and begging for more, everything, anything Sam would be willing to give him.

He can't bring himself to say any of that, but from the look on Castiel's face, he's not sure he has to. The Angel is smiling like he _knows_, and he can't possibly know but somehow he _does_. Sam feels it himself when Dean goes tense, Castiel kneeling up behind him and dragging his lube-slick fingers across Dean's hole.

The older Winchester makes a sound of protest, body rocking in an attempt to get some room before Castiel's hand spreads out across his flank, Sam's hand so large and dark against Dean's pale skin stretched tight over his ribcage. "Hush, beloved," Castiel whispers, tenderness in his voice and adoration in his eyes. "Sam and I will give you what you need – what you're too afraid to ask for."

Sam feels it in his own soul when the first finger slides into Dean's body, his older brother's groan muffled and shortened by the cock in his mouth, and it makes Sam shudder and roll his hips again, aching to get deeper into Dean's mouth as his brother starts up a new rhythm – slower, longer, dragging pulls of his lips against the ridge of his cock and long swipes of his tongue on the way down. Fucking glorious, is what it is.

One finger quickly turns to two inside of Dean, _fuck_, Sam can _see _it, see his own fingers sliding in and out of Dean's body and Dean is just taking it – just taking _him_, like he's been doing it all his life. The thought makes Sam's brain short-circuit, his hips stuttering as he bucks up and comes deep inside Dean's mouth, his older brother swallowing it all as quickly as he can so that he doesn't choke.

The flick of Dean's tongue against the head of his cock jerks Sam back to reality as Dean pulls off of him, breathing heavily and thin strings of spit still connecting their bodies together. Behind Dean, Castiel has withdrawn his fingers, spreading the rest of the lube against his – Sam's – erection, his free hand dragging around the softness of Dean's stomach and digging in.

Sam feels like the wind has been knocked out of him – he can only watch, fingers tightly clenched in Dean's hair and unconsciously keeping his head down, as Castiel pulls Dean back onto him by one hand, Angelic strength and power something Dean is in no condition to resist. He feels like it's his own body that shivers when Dean's body first parts for Castiel, the slight tensing in his shoulders, the way his spine arcs downward, lax and sprinkled with a sheen of sweat – God, he's beautiful, trapped between them and fighting to just stay down.

_"Fuck_, Sam," Dean grits out, voice hoarse and rough and so fucking sexy Sam has no idea what to do about it. "Fuckin' monster cock, God_damn_."

It startles a laugh out of Sam – slightly hysterical, but a laugh nonetheless, because Dean is at least _acknowledging_ what's going on – he hasn't sunk into his happy place or zoned out and tried to pretend he was somewhere else. He's _here_, with Sam and Castiel and their hands on him, Castiel forcing Sam's cock inside with a steady, firm pressure until he's pressed flush in Dean's ass and his eyes are closing, head tilted back, jaw clenched.

Castiel slaps a hand down on Dean's thigh, making him jump. "Don't blaspheme," he scolds, making Dean choke on another laugh that sounds just about as weak and forced as Sam's. Then, Dean's laugh is cut off with a low, rough sound as Castiel pulls out slowly, so agonizingly slowly Sam would be exploding if he was the one trying to do that, only to force his way back inside.

Sam feels Dean's entire body shiver – he hopes it's in pleasure; from the way he's sitting he can't even tell if Dean's enjoying himself or not, but he really hopes he is.

He wants to find out. Fingers curling, he pulls Dean's head up for another harsh kiss, Dean's soft sound of surprise muffled against his mouth, and he vaguely hears Castiel groan lowly as he shifts himself down the bed so he's lying under Dean, legs spread around the both of them and thighs caging in Dean's hips, as he reaches down with his other hand to close around his brother's half-hard cock.

Dean jerks away like he's been hit. "No, don't -." But then Castiel is there, hand on his shoulder keeping him down, thrusts picking up in earnest and hard enough to make the bed rattle, thumping steadily against the wall. Dean makes a soft, broken sound, forehead pressed against Sam's neck. "Don't – don't touch me there, Sammy, I -."

"I want to," Sam replies, voice firm because he _does_. He wants to see Dean shake apart from the seams and know that it was his hand that did it – his cock, if not himself the driving force behind – that made Dean fall to pieces. He wants to see his brother's face in orgasm, wants to taste his sweat and his kiss and drink in his soft sighs and moans that he knows Dean tries to stifle but never truly can. Castiel is right – Dean _is _vocal, but Sam knows he still holds back if there's a chance that someone he doesn't want to hear him, can. Sam wants to make Dean _scream_. "I want to touch you, Dean."

"You should let him," Castiel coaxes, not stopping in his punishing rhythm for even a second. Sam knows that he would be sweating by now – already Castiel's vessel has become slippery and wet with it, but the Angel keeps his body smooth and clean, without blemish or exhaustion to cause him to falter.

Then, Castiel leans forward, Sam's muscles torso pressing down on Dean's back so the three of them are all pressed together, and Sam feels like he can barely breathe with their weight on top of him but Castiel's arm is braced and holds him up, so it's not too bad. Castiel has his mouth against Dean's ear, low snarl of his voice making Dean shiver again; "You should let your brother give you pleasure, Dean. He wants it, and so do you, though you'd never admit it." Dean shakes his head, turning his face away, and Castiel growls and thrusts in hard, again, slamming the bed's headboard against the wall. Still, in Sam's hand Sam can feel Dean start to thicken and fill. "It is his body inside of you right now, Dean – his body that is stretching you so much." He drags his hand along Dean's sweat-coated flank, nails dragging and leaving red lines behind. "His hands that are touching you, his soul under you. He's so eager to please you, Dean, just as you are for him, so what's stopping you?"

"_Cas_," Dean grits out, shaking his head again, muscles in his shoulders flexing under his skin, rolling as he tries to keep control of himself even as Castiel's thrusts force his cock into Sam's hand, then back out, Sam tightening his grip on the upstroke when he finally gets with the picture. Fuck, they're beautiful – Castiel's Grace lighting up his own eyes and Dean, sweaty, blushing, _sexy_, God, Sam wishes he hadn't finished so soon. "I – _Sam_."

"That's it." Castiel bows his head, pressing his forehead between Dean's shoulder blades, his hands forfeiting their spots on his shoulder and side to settle across Dean's hips instead, one fanning out around the jut of bone, the other just brushing against Sam's own leg – he jerks in surprise, eyes wide, but the Angel doesn't falter in grabbing for him again, tying the three of them together.

Castiel must be close – obviously beyond words, the Angel has dissolved into breathless growls and low noises pressed against Dean's sweaty back, losing himself in the feel of Dean's body and the brightness of his soul. Both of his charges, light and love pulsing between them and so eager to touch.

"You're so gorgeous like this, Dean," Sam whispers, knowing that both Dean and Castiel will hear him – but if he can't say it now, then he never will, never can. Dean gasps, one hand flying to Sam's chest and Sam doesn't hesitate to curl his fingers around it, grip of his thighs tightening to keep Dean close to him, fist still closed around Dean's cock to try and bring him to orgasm. He laces their fingers together, pulling the hand back to raise Dean's chin so their eyes can meet.

He kisses Dean, then, soft bite to his lower lip making Dean shiver. "Wanna see you come, big brother. Can you do that for me?"

Dean moans, tongue sliding into Sam's mouth as he surges forward, hips and hands and body curling into Sam's, Castiel's weight behind him. He tastes like Sam's orgasm on the inside, salty and a little bitter but Sam likes it – he likes the taste of Dean, and himself, even though thinking about whether it's actually _him_ he's tasting or not makes his head hurt.

Dean's breath is getting shaky, and Sam, despite himself, recognizes the sound. "Yeah," he whispers, eager to see it, twisting his hand on the upstroke to get Dean there faster. Dean is hard and hot and heavy in his hand and he's close, Sam can _taste _it. Castiel must be able to sense it, too, because his thrusts are getting faster, chasing his own release. "Yeah, come on, Dean – please, I wanna see it. Want you to come all over Cas' body, just like this, then when we switch back we can -."

He stops, swallowing, not sure if he should continue because, well, there's no guarantee this will continue past this. But Castiel is looking at him, Sam's hazel-green eyes narrowed with intent, corner of his mouth just quirked upwards, before his eyes clench tightly shut and he buries his face in Dean's neck, mouth open wide around the older Winchester's flesh as he bites a large, dark mark onto the side of Dean's neck, nails digging in hard enough to leave bruises and scrapes behind.

That's all it takes – Dean goes taut and tense like a trip-wire, head bowing down as he curls in on himself, like his orgasm is a blow he is trying to flinch away from. Castiel's weight holds him down and Sam's hands keep him grounded as he comes with a low, broken groan, sweaty forehead pressed against Sam's racing heart, eyes shut as tightly as he can. He grabs for Sam, and for Castiel, each of them with a hand on the other and digging in tight like they're going to be ripped apart at any second, and then Sam feels something _tug_.

He closes his eyes, head tilted back, and when he opens them again he is in a different position, Dean's weight warm underneath him and cool motel room air at his back, his softening dick buried deep in something warm and wet and clenching tightly. He moans at the abrupt change in sensation, forcing his eyes open as he pulls back to see Dean's back stretched out in front of him, Castiel's bright blue eyes meeting his.

The Angel smiles, turning his head and pressing a kiss to Dean's temple, one hand forgoing the grip on Dean's cock to stroke across the nape of his neck, uncaring for the mess he is smearing around. "It is done, Dean," Castiel whispers, earning a sagging of Dean's shoulders and a soft, relieved sigh. "You did so well, beloved. Sam and I are very proud of you."

Sam swallows, pushing himself off of his brother and winces at the wet sound that accompanies him sliding free of Dean's warmth. He doesn't know what to do – should he leave now, and let Dean deal with the aftermath or let Castiel scrub his memories clean? Will the Angel let both of them forget this, or not?

Will Dean even be able to look him in the eye?

"Aren't we, Sam?" Castiel continues, like he's oblivious to Sam's internal freak-out, and dark, meaningful eyes land on Sam like a weight on his shoulders, keeping him kneeling behind his fucked-out brother on their soiled bed.

Sam swallows, settling back on his heels, and presses a hand to Dean's back – gently, in case Dean decides to shrug him off. "Amazing," he whispers, instead of anything else he can think to say, but he doesn't think he needs more than that – Dean will understand what he's trying to say. He hopes so, anyway.

Castiel smiles, and presses another kiss to Dean's forehead, before he waves his hand and they are both clean and reclothed, the Angel suddenly standing a little ways away from the bed, also redressed. "I will go and make sure the witch did not have any more outstanding spells before we took her powers away. I will not be gone long."

"Cas, don't -." But Dean's protest was too late – by the time he turns around and thinks to stop the Angel, Castiel has disappeared. "Fuck," Dean curses, punching the bed, and winces at the pull on his jaw and the ache in his ass. He hasn't looked Sam in the eye yet and Sam feels a hard knot of dread for what that could mean, but he can't play this wrong or Dean will never be able to be in the same room as him again.

Then, Dean shoves himself to his feet. "I need to go shower," he says stiffly.

"Cas already cleaned us up," Sam protests, standing also. He's inadvertently blocking the way to the door and Dean halts, fingers flexing by his sides, jaw clenched tight enough that it must hurt. "Dean, please don't run away from me."

Dean lifts his chin, then, defiant and closed-off like Sam hasn't seen him for a long time. The dark mark on the side of his neck stands out against his pale skin, and Sam licks his lips because it was _his mouth_ that put it there. "Fine," he says emphatically, turning on his heel and storming out of the motel room door before Sam can stop him – not that Sam tries. He doesn't give chase. Dean will come back, or Cas will bring him back, or their memories will get fucked with and it'll render the point moot.

Sam sighs, feelings like a kid again who has no idea what to do, and sits down on the edge of the bed they hadn't all fucked in. He can't even look at the damn rumpled sheets, so instead he flicks the TV on to some stupid infomercial, and tries to wait Dean out.

* * *

"Thank you for the spell," Castiel says, smiling slightly as he hands the spell book over to the witch. She takes it gladly, quirking an eyebrow in expectant interest.

"Well? Did it go as planned?" she asks.

Castiel lifts one shoulder. "I think Dean will need a little time to come around to the idea, but he can't deny it forever. He and his brother are bound together more tightly than human taboos can keep apart."

"Agreed," the witch says, grinning. "I think the only one who doesn't know that is those two knuckle heads." She turns, placing the book in one of her travel cases – after all, once the Winchesters bust up your home you kind of have to get moving, quickly. "Hope everything works out for you, Angel."

"Thank you," he replies, nodding his head once – a gesture that she returns – before he wings away back to the motel room. He is saddened, but not surprised, to see Sam alone and morose, his soul aching with emptiness and loneliness, desperate for the presence of its mate.

He sighs, coming forward to stand next to Sam, who barely acknowledges him until he places a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Sam," he murmurs to the man, who is looking at him like a lost child, desperate for answers or assurances that everything will be alright. "He'll come around."


End file.
